


Live, Laugh, Leave

by troglodyke



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Character Development, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Redemption, Trigger warning for broken bones, also uh, injuries, there def will be smut, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troglodyke/pseuds/troglodyke
Summary: Linda Monroe, queen bee of Hatchetfield, falls from grace. Becky Barnes couldn’t care less.ongoing!
Relationships: Barnroe, Becky Barnes & Tim Houston, Becky Barnes & Tom Houston, Becky Barnes/Linda Monroe, Linda Monroe & Gary Goldstein, Linda Monroe/Character Development, Linda Monroe/Shame, probably some more later
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	1. the one where linda breaks her fucking leg

**Author's Note:**

> rewriting/continuing my old barnroe book! I’ve grown as a writer a bit, hope you enjoy 😔👊
> 
> (idk why it says 1/1 this is ongoing)

Linda Karen Monroe has mastered the art of walking in heels. The first time she put them on was in seventh grade, when she discovered what a girl needed to do to be seen and given respect. Putting those stilettos on, she felt like she finally had a stake in the world, something to tower over. It didn’t matter that she could barely walk. All that mattered was the fact that people listened to her. She hasn’t worn anything else since.

Today she stands perfectly balanced and six inches higher than where that bastard God had decided to put her, in the back of the line at the local Cinnabon. The man in front of her is aggressively tapping his foot on the floor, a clacking noise reverberating through the room every time his hard soled shoe lands on the floor. The couple in front of him brought their baby. And the woman at the front of the line has been perusing the menu for the past several minutes, somehow unable to decide between near identical items. The teenaged boy behind the desk squeaks out complaints occasionally, but quickly takes them back for fear of an outburst, sweating profusely in his overly formal attire all the while. Drip, drip, drip. His drops of sweat hit the countertop. A fly buzzes through the room, adding to the din. Linda grimaces. 

Finally, the woman at the counter makes her decision and the line shifts ever forward, bringing her a foot or so closer to the sweet relief of mediocre pastry. As she exits the shop, the woman swats a fly out of her face and towards the general direction of the line. It’s funny how easily normality can be disrupted. The fly lands on the baby two spots ahead of Linda. The baby lets out a wail. The couple straightens in shock, accidentally bumping the man behind them, whose foot tapping racket is silenced as he jumps upon the impact. His phone flies loose and hits Linda directly in her shin, knocking her legs out from under her. For a moment the world seems to blur as the blonde topples down, but it’s quickly snapped back into place as she hits the floor, accompanied by a loud crack.

————————————————————————

Becky Barnes worries too much for her own good. As she sits on a bench outside of the Hatchetfield Hospital in the sweltering summer heat, a sandwich in her hand, she drifts once again into the familiar shade of her thoughts. 

There was a man she had met once last winter while shopping, and once before that in high school. In the eleventh grade they’d briefly dated, a short, flash-in-the-pan sort of relationship between the good samaritan and the bad boy of Hatchetfield High, doomed to fail. They’d briefly dated again in the spring of the current year, but that only lasted about as long as the first time. He had a son to care for and a late wife he wasn’t finished grieving, not to mention their own differences being painfully clear. The breakup was mutual and they still kept in contact, having become close friends over their recent time together. It’s him that Becky thinks of now as sirens and bright lights rush past her. She wonders if the man has begun to drink less, how his son is doing, if he had made amends with his sister in law yet, whether - sirens. Only now does she notice the blaring, the shining lights. She takes the final bite of her sandwich and throws the bag in a nearby trash can, quickly striding back towards her place of work in the emergency room. 

Thoughts of the man she’d been ruminating on begin to creep into her head as she approaches the door to the ER. Her closest friend, perhaps even her closest friend’s child could have been in that ambulance. But as she pushes open the door she’s completely caught off guard. A little, utterly reprehensible part of her, tucked away in the back of her head, even wishes that it were Tom who had taken the fall. 

Before her lies the queen bee of Hatchetfield herself, Linda Monroe. The blonde is laying on her back upon the examination table, her arms crossed over her chest. Her brow is furrowed and a huge frown is spread across her face. As Becky enters the room, she tilts her head over to glance at the doctor. Before Becky can force out a happy hello, Linda raises a finger. Even as she’s laying there hurt, the power emanating from the woman is still strong, and Becky quickly shuts her mouth. “I see they didn’t need you in the operating room today,” Linda winces as she points over at the doctor. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here though, honestly. I thought you were better. I guess it’s fitting, sending you to work with drunken losers who’ve shoved the wrong thing up their asses.” Linda smirks, beckoning the doctor closer. 

Becky complies, stepping towards the table. The best she can hope to do is get the encounter over with quickly and send the fur-clad woman out as soon as possible. She lays a hand on Linda’s left leg, which has been wrapped in a makeshift splint. Linda inhales sharply as the doctor’s hand presses down slightly underneath her knee, clenching every muscle in her body. Becky removes her hand and turns to Linda’s face. “It’s broken, I think. Probably fractured. I’ll grab you a wheelchair so we can go and x-ray it.”

It’s a minute or so before Becky returns with the wheelchair. While she waits, Linda pulls her phone out of the pocket of her expensive, fur-lined blazer (now slightly scuffed) and types up a text to the oldest of her sons. [Tell your brothers that I might not be home for a while today. And tell Daddy that if I make dinner every night he can bother to do it for once 😒. I love you kids 💞]

Becky enters again with the wheelchair, and helps the shorter woman shift onto the chair. As she pushes Linda down the hallway, Becky takes in the situation. She and Linda have been rivals since high school, where the blonde had decided she hated Becky for no other reason than the fact that she existed. As they grew up, it didn’t get better. No matter what was happening, if Linda passed the doctor in the street she always had time to make a scathing remark, to stare Becky down, to rub in her socialite status. But today had been the first time they had touched. Linda had always made an effort to stay away from Becky physically, almost as if she somehow feared the doctor. And now, as they marched down the plain white hallway, even and bleached lighting shining in their faces, the queen bee didn’t say a word. So it stayed until they arrived. 

Becky once again helps Linda move herself, this time from the wheelchair to the x-ray table. The doctor takes a lead apron from a cupboard beside the bed, and as she lays it down upon Linda, she catches a look in the woman’s golden-brown eyes. It almost looks like fear. But as quick as the doctor catches it, the blonde turns her head away, breaking their line of sight. “Hurry up.” She mutters, almost a whisper.

————————————————————————

The next hour isn’t pleasant for either woman, as Becky pokes and prods at Linda’s leg and Linda, having seemingly regained her courage, protests at any and every possible moment. As Becky finishes wrapping the layers of gauze and tape around Linda’s leg, she asks what could very well be the final part of their exchange. “What color would you like your cast to be?” When Linda asks her for daffodil buttermilk, the doctor nearly loses it. Instead, she holds what she would love to say to the blonde in, forces a smile, and responds: “We have white, orange, green, blue, purple, red, and black. Unfortunately there are no speciality cast colors.”

“Darling, how am I supposed to dress when my cast is clashing? I can’t become a gaudy spectacle, we all saw how you ended up,” Linda retorts as the doctor’s grip on the multicolored fiberglass rod used to show what casts will look like slightly tightens, though a strained smile still flickers across her face. “Please, the people of this town look up to me, I can’t disappoint. If you don’t have any speciality colors then make a few, it’s not like throwing some dye on your huge supply should take long. It’s important that when people look at me they know who I am! I am the pride of this town, Becky. Everyone admires me. You’re an outlier.”

“Christ, Linda! You think I never did?” Becky drops the fiberglass cylinder and the clank it makes as it hits the ground reverberates throughout the small room. “I used to think you were the shit back in high school! I looked at you and said ‘that’s a girl who has everything together’! I wanted what you had so bad for so long until I realized something.” The doctor glares straight into the other woman’s eyes as she picks up cast material in the gaudiest shade of purple she can find and begins wrapping it around the blonde’s leg precisely, all the while never breaking eye contact with her. “You know what I realized, Linda? I saw how you treated people, the way you talked to them all like you were some kind of royalty, and I realized that maybe perfect wasn’t actually very great at all. I grew up. And some day, everyone else will too. What will you do when everyone’s admiration is replaced with resentment? Will you sit there and whine while your friends, your husband, your sons all move on from you? What’ll it take, Linda? What’ll it fucking take?” 

And with that, Becky cuts the last section of fiberglass off of its sheet, leaving the cast completed. At last the breaks eye contact, stepping away from a slack-jawed Linda to grab a pair of crutches from a nearby cabinet. The doctor glares at the other woman once again before shoving the crutches towards her. Linda, eyes wide and mouth open, shakily takes hold of them as Becky turns away and storms out of the room, her last bitter words ringing in Linda’s head long after the doctor’s departure. “Have a nice day.”


	2. the one where linda commits adultery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning gang this one do got sex in it. happy chapter 2 day I no longer have any idea where the plot will go

Gerald Monroe sits at his desk, drumming his fingers on the polished wood as he scrolls through yet another work document. Beside him is a window, rays of sunlight beaming in and illuminating the space around him. The room is fairly small, almost studio-like. In one corner sits his desk and in the other a couch, upon which two of the four Monroe children sit, tapping away at their iPad and occasionally mocking each other’s capability. The walls are empty, save for a few inspirational posters and a clock that just keeps tick, tick, ticking away. It’s been six hours since he last heard from his wife.

Mrs. Monroe isn’t one for random messages of well-wishing or check ups on one’s state, but she never misses a chance to complain. Gerald goes into every day knowing he’ll spend it all either working his office job, or entertaining the mad ravings of his wife, but he doesn’t mind. The sarcastic, cold-hearted bitch was the woman he had started a family with. She is a perfectionist, a critic, someone who isn’t afraid to share her thoughts. And listening in on some gossip is an awful good distraction from filing paperwork and forwarding emails. It’s what they’d built their entire marriage upon, after all.

————————————————————————

By the time Linda does arrive home, the rest of the family are already halfway through their dinner. As she staggers past the door and into the dining room, she avoids looking at her family. A strong mother doesn’t take a long time to get home. A strong mother doesn’t have accidents. Frustration boils within the short woman, turning her face red and her knuckles white. When she does turn her gaze to the dinner table the pitying look in Gerald’s eyes is enough to make her vomit. She doesn’t, of course. A strong mother doesn’t get sick. Linda pauses for a moment to take a few deep breaths, then moves to take a seat at the table as best she can. The family eats in silence. Finally, Gerald breaks it. “Linda?”

Linda’s eyes flit about her now almost empty plate and her fingers tap on the handle of the fork she’s holding. She exhales. “Yes, Gerald?” Her voice betrays the exhaustion she’s trying so hard to hide. “I hope this isn’t about having to take care of the kids for once.”

“No, it’s not that,” Gerald responds. “I was wondering if you were alright is all. I mean, you seem exhausted. And the cast?” There’s that look again. Pity. The queen bee of Hatchetfield deserves no pity. Linda Monroe deserves no pity.

“I’m fine,” the woman shoots back, a little quicker than she had intended to. “I can still take care of my children and I’m still hotter than that bitch Cheyrl at the Cinnabon. Stop worrying.” On this, the blonde shifts back slightly in her chair and almost loses her balance. Red floods her face again and the anger is back. Fortunately for the sanctity of the meal, Gerald knows when to stop prying.

————————————————————————

Linda awakes at god knows when in the morning drenched in sweat. She blinks her eyes open and stares intently at Gerald’s back steadily coming into view, blurry edges sharpening. She slowly traces the freckles and moles on his back with her pointer finger, almost as if in a trance. You could map out the whole sky with those freckles. Back in college, at the beginnings of their relationship, she often teased him for the spots dappling his skin. She called him Starkid, and she was his astronaut. Recalling that memory causes Linda to cringe, her eyebrows furrowing. It should have been no surprise they were doomed to fail with a cutesy couples’ gimmick like that.

Fifteen years later and Linda has every point on the man’s body memorized. He’s no longer Starkid and she’s no longer a bold explorer. All that’s left is a man bored to death by his whole life and a woman who harbors nothing but loathing towards herself. As she continues gazing at Gerald’s back, a sickening feeling begins to gnaw at the back of her head. It’s always been there; Linda has even come to think of it as a natural part of love. But tonight the gnawing becomes a pounding at her skull and suddenly Gerald is no longer laying in front of her, but an alien being, devoid of attachment and feeling. The alien wears Gerald’s skin and snores just the same, but it’s all of a sudden apparent that the Gerald Linda knows never existed. The blonde wonders if maybe it’s the same way for him too. The pounding at her skull continues and Linda slowly stands from the bed, careful not to wake the creature laying next to her. The woman grabs an extravagant coat from her closet, her crutches from the walls, and begins her tedious trek to anywhere but here.

Hatchetfield is a quiet town at night. As Linda wanders down the road the only sounds apparent are the uneven clicking of her crutches and the hooting of a distant owl. The moon shines above her, almost full and casting its beams down onto the shiny pavement of the road. Fog creeps through the air with no regard for personal space or good vision. As Linda stumbles forward the fog slithers through her coat and wraps her body in its cold invasiveness. Her and the fog edge ever forwards until the blonde reaches a house at the end of a cul de sac. It’s two stories tall, trimmed in green, with warm lights visible through its windows. Altogether, an approachable residence. What matters to Linda, however, is the man who resides within.

Linda knocks at the door in three evenly spaced bursts, and waits. A minute or so goes by. Then the door creaks open. Behind it is a tall, wiry man who seems to have just gotten out of bed, with his shirt buttoned wrong and his glasses upside down. Linda chuckles at his appearance, despite the cold edging in all around her. “Hello, Gary.”

Gary steps aside and allows the woman to enter his house, which she does with utmost speed. At last, the fog is kept at bay. The entrance hallway opens up into a large kitchen/living room, where fruits are laid out across the kitchen table and a large, plush couch sits a few feet away from a fireplace. Nearby is a small bathroom and a staircase leading to the second floor, where Gary’s bedroom, among other far less important areas, resided. The two of them make their way to the couch, Linda leaning on the lawyer as they walk. Gary begins to ask a question, but thinks better of it.

They sit down, and Linda stares intently into the lawyer’s eyes. He nods and all of a sudden the queen bee is upon him, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing her coat to the floor. Gary lays himself down on the couch, all the while quizzically examining the woman above him. 

Linda isn’t what you’d traditionally call a faithful wife. Gerald has full knowledge of her escapades, of course, and he couldn’t care less. Mrs. Monroe may be a complex and interesting woman, but she is a complex and interesting woman with the libido of a bonobo monkey. She drowns her fears and sorrows in sex because she’s too high on the Hatchetfield hierarchy to drink. Gary is aware of this too, and perhaps that’s why he agrees to let her into his house. She’s too fascinating to ignore.

Every movement Linda makes speaks to her emotional turmoil, and Gary enjoys playing therapist. When he isn’t completely lost in euphoria the lawyer is methodically examining every move the small woman makes. The intensity of her grasp, the rhythm of her hips, the pressure with which she moved her hands across his body. All are notes in a symphony that plays one grand song of misery. Understanding that symphony became crucial to him, if not for love them for his fascination with the woman’s inner workings.

Tonight, however, none of her movements make sense. She is rough, riding him with no caution and clawing at his shoulders with her sharp nails, full of desperation and anger. But at times she slows, and her touch lingers, and she presses against him almost gently with an incredibly disgruntled look on her face. Gary makes a mental note of this, knowing already that he will be pondering what could possibly be effecting Linda this way for days upon days. The look in the woman’s eyes is not one of simply anger or sadness, but one of intense inspection and confusion, almost as if she’s examining Gary right back. It’s too intriguing to not address. “Linda?” Gary tries to bring the woman on top of him to attention but is interrupted halfway through by the most desperate kiss he’s ever experienced. Linda never kisses him. Hell, the lawyer doesn’t think Linda even kisses her husband anymore. He pries her face away from his and stares worriedly into her hazel eyes, noticing a slight redness to them. “Linda, what is this?”

The woman stares back with equal intensity, then breaks her gaze away from him. “We’re fucking, idiot. It’s a miracle I keep coming back to you.”

The lawyer refuses to let himself falter. Out of all the experiences he’s had with Linda, this has been completely and utterly different. He has to know why. “No, I mean this whole situation? You show up unannounced at my house at four in the morning in nothing but a coat and a cast? You usually text me at least!”

By this point Linda has picked a spot on the wall to stare at instead of the infuriating man lying beneath her. “Shut up, Goldstein.”

“And what’s with the cast anyway?” Gary chokes out between Linda’s greatly intensified thrusts. “Are you hurt? Was it another man? You have to be careful, Linda.”

“Shut. Up.” Linda growls, gripping the lawyer’s shoulders so hard that he feels a drop of blood drip down his back.

Gary’s eyes widen, another possibility occurring to him. “Was it Gerald? I know how you two are. Did he-“

“Keep your fucking mouth shut and mind your own business, Barnes!”

The two halt completely. Linda makes the mistake of looking down and Gary is staring directly into her eyes, his mouth gaping open. She hurries to remove herself from him, standing as straight as is possible with her broken leg. The lawyer begins to regain his composure as Linda grabs her coat and crutches, turning to walk away. “Holy shit, Linda,” Gary pants. “You’re a mess. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about this?” The blonde doesn’t even glance back. She marches towards the door, fists clenched hard enough that her nails will leave marks. The queen bee of Hatchetfield shoves the door open and steps outside, back with the incessant moon and the lonely owl and the ever creeping fog. Back where she belongs.


End file.
